


nothing's in the flowers

by jaylene



Series: company of thieves [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, BAMF Sakura, F/M, UchiSaku Week, halcyon days remix, i guess, modern!AU, references to slavery, references to united states civil war, sort of, supernatural!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaylene/pseuds/jaylene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashura and Indra see dead people. Well, one dead person to be exact. Everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing's in the flowers

**Author's Note:**

> first story for uchisaku week and it’s indrasakuashu! it’s a bit of a halcyon days remix and I’m excited to share it with you!

 

“It’s…something,” Ashura says, gazing up at the building.

The house is large and sprawling with wide windows. The lawn is overgrown and the grasses nearly cover the first floor of the building. Ivy creeps up the red brick of the building and curls around the spiraling tower. An iron-wrought fence and gate separates the brothers’ Toyota Highlander from the manor.

There is something…creepy about the house, almost a sort of presence.

Ashura shrugs it off, knowing that the long drive has left him delirious. He shucks his hands in his pockets. “Why do you think dad chose this place? Middle of nowhere in the south…was he having a midlife crisis?”

Indra chuckles, grabbing his duffle bag from the trunk and swatting at the mosquitos that swarm in the humid air. “Dad’s always been known for his eccentricities though all of the seemingly random properties have sold well.” He scratches at a raised welt on his arm. “I must confess, for this to be the first of our properties in the States…it’s a bit strange.”

Ashura shrugs. “Yeah, it is weird. Still, the quicker we get to work, the quicker we get out of this hellhole.”

“Agreed,” Indra mutters, making his way over to the fence.

There are motifs of flowers and leaves that coil their way through the iron and at the very top of the gate some words read, “Freeman Manor.”

Indra shivers slightly as his hands touch the warm metal, suddenly overcome with a chill. “It’s a little…spooky isn’t it?”

Ashura just scoffs, shoving his brother out of his way. “You’re jetlagged and _way_ too apprehensive.”

Ashura opens the gate instead, stepping through and moving onto the wrap around porch. “These mosquitos are damn annoying,” he mutters, turning the key in the door.

He shakes off the eerie pressure that pricks at the back of his neck.

Like he is being watched.

He pushes into the building, looking around in dismay. Certainly, he can see the grand skeleton of what this house used to be, but now? The walls are stripped, the floor is dusty, and everything is bone bare. Still, there are glimmers of the past in the carvings on the ceiling and the gilt pattern upon the fireplace.

Once, this was the jewel of the south.

Ashura sighs, wondering if they will be able to fix the place up to even a fraction of its former glory.

“At least the last owner installed wall outlets before running off,” Indra says, grabbing his phone and plugging it into the wall. “We can run into town later and buy a fan. That’ll help some with the humidity.”

“How do the locals stand it?” Ashura demands, scratching at the raised marks on his arm. “This is some type of purgatory.”

“You get used to it,” a new voice says.

The brothers turn, startled.

A young woman stands in the doorway, bright pink hair tucked elegantly into a braided bun. She wears a tank top with some sort of obscure band reference and cut-off jean shorts. Her green eyes sparkle with amusement as she presents them with some sort of homemade good.

“I noticed the ‘for sale’ sign disappear, so I knew that someone would be moving in soon.” Her eyes crinkle at the sides as her lips pull into a grin. “Thankfully, I baked a pie today before you both arrived.”

It is now that Ashura notices the scent that billows through the home. “Good lord, woman! Are you some sort of sorceress?”

Indra elbows his brother. “I apologize for his rudeness,” Indra says. “I’m Ōtsutsuki Indra…er, Indra Ōtsutsuki. This is my younger brother Ashura.”

The woman smiles, curtsying. It’s strange, the way she curtsies without a skirt or dress, but it is incredibly graceful. “I am Sakura,” she says.

Ashura’s brows hike high. “Japanese name, huh? Any family out that way?”

Sakura laughs. “No, nothing like that. My family…well, they traveled a lot with work and my father was an enthusiast of anything and everything Japanese. He had the chance to visit while the cherry blossoms were blooming and…” She trails off, expression wry. “Well, the rest is history.”

“And you dyed your hair to fit with the theme,” Ashura says, nodding at the pink strands.

“I…” Sakura blows her bangs out of her face, eyes shuttered. “Well, something like that.”

“Here, let me help you with that,” Indra says, stepping forward.

“No, no need,” Sakura says hastily, backing away.

“Alright, well, follow me to the kitchen then,” Indra says, meandering off tentatively through one of the doors.

“Other way,” Sakura says.

“How would you know?” Ashura asks.

He can’t read her expression for a split second before she giggles. “There’s been quite a few owners in the past decade or so. We’re neighbors, so I usually bring food over. You get to know the lay of the land after a while.”

“Oh,” Ashura says, expression clearing as he trails behind her. “You have any idea if they kept any silverware?”

“Only one way to find out,” Sakura replies, setting the pie on the solid marble countertop.

Indra’s eyes scan the oak wood cabinets with their natural fiery-looking rings. He smiles faintly as Sakura rummages through one of the drawers. It’s almost like…well, it’s like she belongs here.

He shakes the feeling off as Sakura triumphantly pulls a few forks free of the drawer.

“Tada!” she sings.

Ashura applauds, trying to contain his laughter as she gallantly presents the fork to him.

“Thank you,” Ashura says.

“No problem,” Sakura replies, before proffering one to Indra.

“Thanks,” he says, inhaling.

The scent of chocolate and sugar fills the kitchen and he cannot help but sigh. Something about the pie makes this place feel a bit more welcoming, homey.

“It’s a chocolate chip pie,” Sakura explains, grabbing the knife to cut it up into separate slices. Gooey goodness oozes from the sides as she lifts the pieces onto different plates. “It’s a recipe my m…my nanny taught me when I was a kid. I tweaked it a bit, but it’s still pretty good.”

Ashura nods, taking a bite. He moans. “Holy hell, this is delicious!”

Indra shakes his head at his brother’s theatrics before taking a bite for himself. “Wow,” he says quietly. “This is…it’s…”

“Amazing!” Ashura fills in for him. “Sakura, seriously, why aren’t you eating any?”

Sakura waves her hands in front of her face. “I’m not hungry, honestly.”

“Your loss,” Ashura says with a shrug, digging into the pie.

“Thank you,” Indra says sincerely. “You’ve really made us feel welcomed.”

“Yeah, it makes me a bit sad we aren’t staying,” Ashura says, helping himself to a second slice.

“What do you mean?” Sakura asks.

“Well, we’re in the business of fixing up houses and selling them off,” Indra says. “This is one of those houses.”

Sakura’s eyes narrow and for a moment, she looks upset. Then her face clears like the ocean after a storm and Indra wonders if he imagined it.

“That’s unfortunate,” Sakura says, leaning against the table. “Any idea how long you’ll be here?”

Indra and Ashura exchange looks before shrugging.

“Honestly, it depends on what needs to be done,” Indra says.

Ashura winces. “Yeah, you can bet we’ll be here for a _long_ time. This building needs a lot of work.”

Sakura stands abruptly. “I…I’ve got to go.”

“What—” Ashura begins but she is already out the door.

Indra turns to Ashura with a stormy look, smacking him across the shoulder.

“What?” Ashura whines. “What did I do?”

“You must’ve said something to offend her,” Indra says, shaking his head. “Get up; we need to head into town.”

Ashura frowns, rubbing his shoulder. He tries to puzzle out what exactly he said to scare Sakura off but he comes up blank. Ashura sighs, lacing up his shoes and heading to the door. He glances back at the pie, biting his lip.

Ashura hopes he hasn’t scared her off for good.

* * *

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Ashura turns, shears in hand to grin at Sakura. “Good to see you, Sakura! I was afraid, I’d scared you off.”

“No worries,” she says, leaning against the iron-wrought fence. “It’ll take more than you chewing with your mouth open to send me screaming.”

“Not fair!” Ashura says, feeling a flush crawl up his neck. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

“Eating is your worst?” Sakura asks, amused.

“Well…that’s what Indra says at least,” Ashura replies, scratching his cheek. He sighs in disgust as dirt smears across his face.

“Well, at least we got it out of the way during our first encounter,” Sakura says.

“How were the first impressions?” Ashura asks, tilting his head and making himself as pitiful as possible.

“Honestly? Not the best,” Sakura says. He slumps. “But you seem genuine and goodhearted so…” She shrugs, “better second impression.”

“I can work with that,” he says, leaning his weight against the shears, smile wide and open.

“So can I,” she says warmly.

Ashura feels warm all over as he turns slightly, hefting the cutters in hand.

“Seriously, don’t cut them,” Sakura says.

“Why not? They’re thorny weeds aren’t they?”

Sakura snorts, shaking her head. She runs an affectionate hand over the tangle of thorns, careful to keep herself from being cut.

“They may not look like much now, heck, they might not look like much in bloom, but these bushes produce the most wonderful roses I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Ashura asks, wide-eyed. “I had no idea.”

“It’s hard to tell, really. Even the most roughshod creatures can produce beauty.”

Her expression is wistful and mourning and hurt all at once. It is a complicated look and Ashura cannot really understand it. It’s painful to look upon her so he averts his gaze back to the ground.

Sakura begins to scowl, fisting her hand in the bush.

“Sakura!” Ashura shouts, dropping the shears as he moves to help her.

“Beautiful things…they always hurt,” Sakura murmurs, eyes glassy and distant as she holds tight to the thorns.

Ashura can see the blood welling up beneath her hand, pouring in rivets over the plant.

“Sakura,” he says, reaching out to touch her.

Sakura snaps out of her trance, backing away. She looks scared. “I-I’ve overstepped my boundaries,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Sakura!” he yells but she is already gone.

“Damn, she’s fast,” he mutters, shaking his head.

She disappeared without a trace, like a wisp of smoke, ethereal and forever confusing.

Ashura sighs to himself, trying to move away from thoughts of his mysterious neighbor as he turns back to the rose bushes with new eyes. He’d no idea what he’d been about to cut down.

He decides to leave them be but he pauses.

“What?” he murmurs, bending and examining the part Sakura grabbed.

Where there should be blood, there is absolutely nothing.

Ashura tentatively runs his fingers over the thorns. He wonders if he imagined the whole thing. Then he remembers the way blood poured down Sakura’s hand and wrist, flowing like a river.

She’d been hurt, of that he is sure.

Ashura furrows his brow, placing his equipment back in the shed.

He doesn’t really understand but…well, there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand.

So he chooses to move on, refusing to dwell.

Still, he remembers their conversation, the discussion of roughness and beauty and somehow, inexplicably, he begins to blush.

It felt like she was…like was talking about _him_.

* * *

“Hi,” Indra says, feeling awkward.

“Hello,” Ashura adds.

“May we help you?” the older woman inquires politely, pale eyes strangely penetrating.

“I…” Ashura falters, wondering if they have the right address. Then again, these are there only neighbors. “Does Sakura live here?”

The old couple exchanges mystified glances. “No, there is no one by that name here.”

“How about anywhere close by?” Indra asks, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Son, the only thing around here is that old house you boys have been fixing up,” the old man says, shaking his head in exasperation. “Nothing else.”

He turns and stumps his way back into the house.

The woman stays.

“What did you say her name was?” she asks, voice hoarse.

“Sakura,” Ashura says. “Her name is Sakura.”

“You were bringing her a treat,” she says, eyeing the plate Ashura holds.

“We tried to make cookies,” Ashura says.

“‘Tried’ being the operative word,” Indra mutters as he looks at the broken and burned cookies.

They were nowhere near on par with the pie she baked them but this is all they have after four attempts.

“Sakura is a familiar name,” the woman says, lips curling. “She’s…well, I heard about her when I was but a child.”

“A child? Well, you must have made some mistake or be thinking of someone else,” Indra scoffs. “Sakura is young, somewhere around our age.”

The woman shakes her head. “That’s how she always appears.”

“ _Appears_?” Ashura asks.

“You see, Sakura…” The woman looks mournful as she glances between the two of them. “Sakura has been dead for a while; several centuries in fact.”

The tray of cookies hits the ground, shattering.

* * *

 

“Sakura,” Indra greets as they walk back through the door to the house, cautious.

She stands in the foyer, wearing different clothing than the brothers are used to. She wears rough cotton pants, boots, and a navy blue jacket that hangs down to her thighs. Two rows of gold buttons line her chest. In her hand, she holds a black hat. The outfit is outdated and looks much too warm for the August heat and humidity.

“You know,” she says quietly.

“Yes,” Ashura says, taking a step forward. “We know. We went to your house…well, the house that you claimed…”

“And you discovered the truth,” Sakura says, eyes dull and unfocused.

“Yes,” Indra says easily. “Would you care for some tea?”

That startles Sakura out of her daze. “Tea?”

Indra nods sharply, stepping away. “I’ll get it for you.”

Sakura and Ashura stand in silence for long, uncomfortable moments before Sakura finally says, “You two are taking this remarkably well.”

Ashura notices that her manner of speech, the pattern maybe, has changed. It sounds foreign, _ancient_.

Ashura shrugs, smirk lopsided. “We’re used to the strange.”

“Oh?” Her brows are raised.

“Well, our grandmother started a cult where they all believed she was a rabbit goddess who arrived here from the moon.” He shakes his head. “It made for some…interesting childhood visits.”

“Your parents _allowed_ you to be around that?” Sakura demands.

“They didn’t know,” Ashura says. “Not until she commissioned her followers to build a rocket ship so they could all return home. The cops found out and the rest, well it’s history.”

“Wow,” Sakura says, a little blown away.

“So while we haven’t necessarily dealt with the supernatural, we’ve experienced some of the extremes that humanity has to offer.” He shrugs. “We were bound to run into the paranormal at some point.”

Sakura smiles slightly. “You took this information better than anyone else I ever told.”

“That’s a relief,” Indra says, bringing in a tray with three teacups, a teapot, a bowl of sugar cubes, and creamer balanced on it. “Two sugars, a dash of cream, and a lemon squeeze?” he directs toward Sakura.

“…how did you know that’s exactly how I like my tea?”

“It’s the only thing we’ve actually seen you consume,” Ashura says with an eye roll. “Of course we know how you take your tea.”

“Huh,” Sakura says, running a finger over the chipped rim of the cup with a sad smile. “You’re very observant.”

“Real estate is a cutthroat business,” Indra says.

“Yet neither of you are satisfied with it, not really,” Sakura replies.

“That’s a conversation for another day,” Ashura says, averting his gaze guiltily. “I, for one, am interested in knowing more about that outfit of yours.”

“Oh this?” Sakura asks, twirling her hat in hand. “This…it’s a relic of the past.” The hat disappears. “Fears brought it out of me; brought me back to that time.”

“And what time was that?” Indra asks, almost dreading the answer.

“You would know it as the United States’ Civil War era,” Sakura says, “but for me, it was just home.” She ignores their exclamations of surprise. “That is all I am willing to share at this time. Thank you both, for trusting in me.”

“Sakura—” they both begin but it is too late.

She disappears, leaving nary a trace aside from the tea saucer left behind. She left with the teacup though.

Ashura sighs. “I’m afraid that’s going to become her new exit.”

Indra laughs.

* * *

 

Indra feels almost guilty as he passes through the doors of the town’s library, air conditioning an instant balm to the humidity outside.

Almost.

Still, they’ve known Sakura for weeks now, known what she is and allowed her to stay. It’s an easy sort of coexistence; Sakura makes for an excellent roommate. Yet, they have no idea _who_ she is.

Rather, was.

Which brought Indra here to the library to hopefully find some answers. It’s an old town, a historical town, and the library doubles as a museum.

Honestly, Ashura would kill him if he knew what he was up to.

He explores the museum first, learning of the history of the cotton plantations, the slaves, and which side of the war the town chose.

The losing side.

He finds nothing pertaining to Sakura in the museum so he moves on to the library.

“Excuse me ma’am,” Indra says, trying to put Sakura’s lessons in Southern charm to work. His heart squeezes at the memory of her earnest attempts to teach them and learn in turn about Japan. He shakes it off, aiming a wobbly smile at the librarian. It seems to do its job as she looks up at him with a smile of her own. “I was wondering if I could have access to any writing pertaining to local legends around here.”

“Certainly,” the aging woman replies, hopping to her feet briskly. “Follow me please.”

Indra trails behind her, listening to what she has to say attentively.

“We keep some of the information on the microfiche over here,” she says with a gesture. “However, a local author recently published a book on all the legends she grew up hearing. She’s actually selling some of the copies through the library. Perhaps that would be of interest to you?”

Indra nods. “That would be wonderful.”

The librarian smiles and hands him a book before heading back to the desk.

Indra takes a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, cracking the volume open. He takes a look at the table of contents, sighing in disappointment as he realizes none seem to pertain to Sakura. Still, he finds himself curious.

So he settles in and begins to read.

It is when he reaches “The Tragic Tale of Star-crossed Lovers” that he realizes the truth.

His eyes go wide as he reads and then his phone is out of his pocket as he calls Ashura.

“Meet me at the coffee shop; I have something to show you.”

* * *

 

“What is it?” Ashura asks, hurrying over to the corner Indra has claimed. He barely thanks Indra for the iced matcha tea as he says, “Sakura and I were in the middle of a Japanese lesson.”

Indra’s stomach roils unpleasantly as he swallows. “This is about Sakura.”

Ashura is suddenly serious. “What did you do?” he demands.

“Nothing!” Indra replies, defensive. “I just…I did some snooping.”

“Indra,” Ashura sighs, sounding so disappointed.

“I had to know,” Indra says. “She’s so elusive when it comes to her past, yet she knows everything about us.”

“It isn’t right,” Ashura says, but there is a reluctant glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

Indra knows he has him. “Trust me, you’ll want to read this.”

Ashura scowls but doesn’t resist as Indra presses the book into his hands.

_Sakura was born the daughter to one of the largest plantation owners in our humble little town in 1845. She grew up the apple of her father’s eye, the jewel of his vast estate. Yet Sakura was different from her peers._

_She preferred the company of slaves._

_Her maid, Karui, basically raised her after Sakura’s mother passed away._

_Sakura was often found running among the cotton fields, singing songs with the slaves, and teaching them how to write and read._

_Sakura was well-loved by her people and she loved them in turn._

_Her father turned a blind, rather genial eye to all of this, enjoying Sakura’s free spirit. That is, until Sakura fell in love._

_There were a few slaves around Sakura’s age who acted as her playmates and friends as she grew up but none was she closer to than Darui._

_Darui was a quiet, intelligent man who was on the fast track to becoming part of the management on the plantation. However, it was no secret that he was infatuated with the plantation owner’s daughter._

_She loved him in turn and they began an illicit affair, kept safe by the other slaves._

_However, there were many people who were jealous of Darui and his rising star._

_They informed Sakura’s father and he became furious, unable to bear his daughter’s relationship with a slave._

_He decided to sell Darui off to one of the other plantations and to marry his daughter off to the son of a colleague._

_He didn’t contend for Karui._

_Karui caught wind of his plan and gave Sakura and Darui the supplies they needed._

_Sakura and Darui disappeared into the night, heading for the Mason-Dixon line. They had nothing but the clothes on their back and their love for one another._

_The year was 1862._

_Civil war had broken out among the states._

_Darui and Sakura decided to join the fight on the Union side. Sakura cut off her lovely blonde hair—_

“Wait, blonde?” Ashura asks, breaking out of the reading.

“Keep going,” Indra says grimly, eyes sad.

_Sakura cut off her lovely blonde hair and disguised herself as a man. The two were placed in the same battalion as part of the Army of the James and received scant training before being sent into the field._

_They quickly discovered the harsh reality of war but they believed in their cause and pushed forward. Sakura was a natural on the battlefield, coolheaded and quick to patch the injuries of her fallen comrades. When their leader fell in battle during the Richmond-Petersburg Campaign, it was Sakura who took command of her comrades in the trenches._

_Unfortunately, they were unable to escape the racism of the day, even fighting against slavery._

_Darui was looked down upon and treated harshly by their companions. Sakura did her best to alieve the worst of it, but old prejudices die hard._

_Darui proved himself in the battlefield, his prowess only matched by Sakura, but he was never treated as well as she._

_Still, he never cared, not really, because he had the chance to fight by her side._

_It bothered Sakura more than it ever hurt him and she could often be found berating the other soldiers for their callous attitudes._

_Sakura and Darui made names for themselves and even were congratulated by Lt. Gen. Ulysses Grant for their courage and bravery._

_Their story took a tragic turn in the September of 1864. It was near the end of the war and Sakura and Darui were still involved in the Richmond-Petersburg Campaign._

_Many of the African-American troops were commissioned to fight in the Battle of Chaffin’s Farm and New Market Heights._

_Among them was Darui._

_Sakura refused to be separated from him and joined him in the fray._

_They were sent to New Market Heights, only to be met by Lee’s “Grenadier Guards.”_

_It was a massacre upon the Union._

_Darui fell._

_Sakura watched him fall and broke apart, refusing to leave his side as he bled out. She pressed her face into his chest, ignorant of the way the blood dyed her hair pink._

_She watched Darui die, but not before they could exchange their final words, a vow of eternal promise._

_Sakura disappeared after this battle._

_Perhaps she died, perhaps she lived, but some residents of the town still claim to see a figure in a Union uniform, wandering the streets, hair pink._

Ashura wipes the tears from his eyes, sniffling. “Poor Sakura,” he says quietly.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t just tell us,” Indra says, graciously ignoring the way Ashura cries.

“Maybe because it’s her business? We shouldn’t have pried,” Ashura says, mouth firm.

“I…I just…”

“I understand that you want to get closer to her; that you…” Ashura swallows. “Well. We overstepped our bounds.”

“I know,” Indra says, hanging his head, wracked with guilt.

“We have to tell her,” Ashura says, determined.

Indra looks at him, at the book, and down at his hands. “…I know.”

They sit in silence for a few long moments, reeling from the implications of the story they just read.

“She’s going to hate me,” Indra says, voice small.

“Well…we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Ashura says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“What,” Sakura says, eyes cold as ice.

“We read the account of your life,” Indra says, trying to keep guilt from clouding his features. “We know.”

“And what account is this?” Sakura demands, arms crossed.

Ashura produces the book, handing it over to her.

Sakura stares at the cover blankly for a few excruciating moments before throwing it into the empty fireplace. The fireplace flares to life, consuming the book whole.

Indra and Ashura swallow as they watch the flames swallow the book.

“That was a library rental,” Indra mutters.

Ashura elbows him hard.

“The author of that book was a resident of this place,” Sakura says, voice barely a whisper. “He was a friend, a confidante. I…I trusted him.” Her eyes flash angrily. “He betrayed me.

“He took the account of my life, every intimate detail and placed it on display for the world to watch and mock.”

“Sakura…” Ashura says, mouth dry. He doesn’t know what to say. Words seem inadequate.

Indra is focused on the way that Sakura almost seems to vibrate, white hot flames licking up her sides. He worries.

“He was only here to learn of my past, to flaunt it to the world as an exploit.” Her smile is grim. “He didn’t learn everything.”

“Sakura,” Indra tries. “We’re— _I’m_ sorry. I got curious and I overstepped my boundaries.”

Sakura glances at him, expression unreadable. “You know why this place is called Freeman Manor?”

They both shrug, shaking their heads.

Sakura’s expression breaks and they can finally see the sadness beneath the anger. “I built this place myself. I didn’t let anyone help me. I escaped the war and settled here; made a home for myself.

“It is called Freeman Manor because of Darui. He died free.”

Sakura jumps as two pairs of arms suddenly wrap around her.

“I’m sorry,” Ashura whispers in her ear, breath too hot for her.

“You’ve suffered so much,” Indra says, arms banded around her in a warm embrace.

It’s too much so soon. Sakura doesn’t understand how they can suddenly touch her; no one else ever has.

So she does what she always does; she disappears.

The brothers’ arms close on empty air as they stare at each other solemnly.

“We fucked up,” Ashura says, mind still on the woman of the house.

Indra glances down at his hands, still focused on Sakura’s cool touch. He’d never expected to be able to hold her. She felt so _real_ , but not alive. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure I’m doing this right?” Indra asks, clutching at Sakura’s hands.

She laughs. “It’s a waltz, Indra. It isn’t exactly a difficult concept.”

Indra flushes a ruddy red, stumbling over his feet. “Excuse me for not having training as a child,” he mutters.

“You’re certainly acting one right now,” Ashura calls from the chair he lounges in.

Indra sends his brother a dirty look, but it’s canceled out by the way he trips over himself.

“Whoa there,” Sakura says, catching him. Her skin is still cool. “Concentrate.”

Indra sighs but follows her command, keeping his eyes on their feet.

 _1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3_ , he repeats in his head, arm tightening around her waist.

“There you go,” Sakura says with a grin. “Now twirl me.”

“Twirl?” he asks.

 Sakura snorts, looking the opposite of a nineteenth century Southern debutante as she raises their connected hand.

“Like this,” she says, gesturing for him to lean down as she spins him out before bringing him back in.

Indra cannot keep from grinning as they come back together. “I’ll admit, that was pretty fun.”

“Look at you, cracking a smile,” Sakura teases, laughing wildly as he spins her. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

Indra pulls her in again, encircling her with his arms. His smile softens into something less rough, more weighty, emotional.

Sakura looks up at him, giggles catching in her throat.

Ashura clears his throat, breaking the moment.

They turn to him, eyebrows raised.

“My turn,” he claims, eyes dark but smile wide.

Sakura shrugs, moving out of Indra’s embrace and offering Ashura her hand. “Alright. Sure you can handle it?”

“Oh Sakura,” Ashura laughs, curling her in close. “We won’t be waltzing. You have multiple centuries’ worth of dancing to make up for.”

“Okay,” Sakura says, raising a brow in confusion. “So what is your plan?”

“Well, I was stationed in New York for a while, building a home out that way and I learned a style of dancing from the 1920s. It’s called swing.” His smile lights up his eyes with joy as he says, “First, I’m teaching you ‘Gangnam style.’”

He moves over to his iPod, switching the song.

Sakura nods as an upbeat song begins to blast over the speakers. “That’s…different.”

“Alright,” Ashura says. “Now watch me.”

The rest of the afternoon is filled with laughter as Ashura teaches Sakura “Gangnam style,” the cha cha slide, and other feats of the modern era.

“Okay, okay, we got off track a little there,” Ashura says, grabbing Sakura’s hand and pulling her close. “Now it’s time for some swing.”

Jazz music fills the room and Sakura perks up. “I…I recognize this!” she exclaims. “A couple of the former owners played this type of music on records!”

Ashura laughs at the way she whoops, before drawing her close and starting a quick pattern of fancy footwork. Thankfully, Sakura is a quick study and she keeps up easily.

She doesn’t notice the way her clothes change, suddenly wearing a dress with a full skirt but Indra does.

“Pick that up from a former owner?” he asks, eyeing the dress.

It’s a bright red with a scoop neckline. It looks like it’s out of the 40s.

Sakura glances down and laughs gaily. “Seems so,” she calls. “Her name was Ino; wonderful lady and a great friend. She had a habit of getting under my skin though.”

Indra smiles, going back to his book. He hasn’t really read all that much since the start of the dancing but Ashura and Sakura don’t need to know that. She’s so much more open about her past now, considering the months, nearly a year now, that they have been at the house.

“Do you trust me?” Ashura asks, stepping in close to Sakura.

She looks up, forest green eyes sparkling. “Always,” she says, immediate and honest.

Ashura’s breath catches in his chest but he nods, smile lopsided. “Alright.”

He swings her down between his legs, guiding her back out and lifting her up and around his shoulders before setting her on the ground again.

“Well?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Sakura’s smile is breathtaking. “Let’s do that again!”

“Of course!” Ashura laughs before stumbling back, suddenly exhausted. He clutches his head, swaying.

Before he can say anything else, he is suddenly on the ground with Indra and Sakura surrounding him.

“How are you?” Sakura asks.

“What happened?” Indra says, jaw ticking with concern.

“I…I don’t know,” Ashura says. “I felt fine but then…”

“You fainted,” Sakura says, eyes dark with contemplation. “You’ve both been feeling odd recently, haven’t you?”

“We’re not sick,” Indra says. “I guess we’re just exhausted.”

Sakura nods, frown hard. “Well, how about both of you get your rest and I’ll clean up in here.”

“You sure?” Ashura asks, looking around. “There’s a lot to put away.”

Sakura laughs, waving a hand. A chair raises off the floor and tucks itself back beneath the table.

“Just another way to practice my powers,” Sakura says.

“You’re getting to be quite the poltergeist,” Indra says with a smile.

“Yeah, we’re going to have to make a movie and you can do all the special effects,” Ashura says, smile warm. “We’ll make millions on a shoestring budget!”

“That’s enough,” Indra says with a snort, clapping the back of his brother’s neck. “Goodnight Sakura.”

“Goodnight!” Ashura calls.

“Goodnight boys,” Sakura says, smiling as they leave.

The smile falls away as soon as they leave the room. She turns to the window, scowling at the sun still full and high in the sky. She stands there for a few minutes.

Finally, she deflates, heading around the room and cleaning up just as promised.

Worry niggles at the back of her mind but she pushes it down as best she can.

* * *

 

“Are you almost finished with the house?” Sakura asks a few weeks later as they sit out on the balcony on the third floor, watching the sunset.

“Why would you think that?” Ashura asks, startled.

“You haven’t done any work for almost a month,” Sakura says. “I assumed you were nearly finished.”

Ashura and Indra exchange a long look.

“What is it?” Sakura asks.

“Well…we were thinking of staying,” Indra says, uncharacteristically tentative.

“What do you mean?” Sakura asks.

“We’d keep the house,” Ashura says earnestly. “We wouldn’t put it on the market.”

“But what about your job?” Sakura asks. “You always travel.”

Indra shrugs. “We’ll take turns. One of us will stay here though.”

“Always,” Ashura says firmly. “We won’t let you be alone. Not again.”

Sakura swallows as they intertwine their hands. “I… _why_?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Indra asks, eyes impossibly warm, backlit as they are by the setting sun. One hand comes up and brushes against her warm cheek. “We love you.”

So saying, he leans in, brushing his lips against hers. It’s a soft, easy, languid kiss; one that takes its time. After all, they have all the time in the world.

He pulls back, swaying but his grin is wild and breathtaking.

Sakura doesn’t have a chance to say anything as Ashura tilts her chin in his direction and leans in for a kiss of his own.

This kiss is the opposite of Indra’s. It quests and explores. Ashura pushes his tongue into Sakura’s mouth, tasting and testing the waters. The kiss is deep and amorous.

It energizes Sakura, revitalizes her.

Sakura pulls away when she tastes blood.

She looks into Ashura’s face, taking in his chalky complexion and the blood that pours from his nose.

Sakura places a hand to his forehead, frowning when she feels how cool and clammy he is in comparison to her own flushed skin.

She feels…she feels _alive._

“You have to go,” Sakura says, standing abruptly. “You have to go _now_.”

“Sakura—” they both protest.

“Stand up now!” she says, voice rising in a panic. “I should have seen this coming. God, I’m such an idiot!”

“What’s wrong?” Ashura asks, trying to stand but collapsing down again.

“I’ve been a fool,” Sakura says, heart squeezing at their hurt expressions. “We got too close. I should’ve realized earlier.”

“What?” Indra asks desperately.

“I’m killing you,” Sakura says, eyes watery. “Your proximity to me…haven’t you noticed the way you’ve lost your strength? The way I’ve _gained_ strength? I’m killing you slowly…or, well, I was. Now it’s progressing rapidly. You have to leave!”

“We won’t!” Ashura replies hotly. “We love you!”

“I love you too,” Sakura says, hand grazing their faces. “And that’s why you have to leave.”

“If we die here…” Indra begins, before swallowing hard.

“…we can stay,” Ashura finishes, eyes on Sakura.

“ _No_ ,” Sakura says. “You can’t.”

“It’s our decision,” Indra says.

Sakura shakes her head. “Not this time.”

She raises her hands, ignoring their yelps of protest as she picks them up with her powers, guiding them down the stairs.

“I won’t subject you to my fate,” Sakura says.

“Sakura!” Ashura yells.

“Don’t do this!” Indra says.

Sakura ignores their pleas as she guides them out the door and places them in their car. She keeps the doors locked so they can’t leave as she gathers their important belongings and puts them in the trunk.

She returns to the front of the car, placing her hand on the windshield.

“I’m so sorry,” Sakura says quietly, tears falling freely. Their objections fall on deaf ears. She clenches her hand in a fist. “I love you both, so much. Live your lives fully. I know you will both find happiness even after this.” Her heart hurts, scraped raw in the face of this revelation. “I never thought I could move on. You proved me wrong. Thank you. Thank you so much for these few short months. It might not seem like much, but these…these were my halcyon days.”

So saying, Sakura turns, returning to the house. She stands on the porch and swallows hard before summoning a lighter to her hand.

“Darui, it’s my turn now,” she whispers as she catches herself and the house alight.

She refuses to scream as the flames lick ever higher, climbing up the walls. Instead she watches the boys with a brilliant smile as her world is consumed in smoke.

Maybe…maybe in their next life, they will meet again.

She hopes so.


End file.
